


New Rules

by Ninyaaaaaaah



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Breakups, F/M, Hamliza, Hand Jobs, Jamilton - Freeform, Light D/s, M/F, M/M, Masturbation, NSFW, Phone Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, bondage (mentioned), m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-06-24 04:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15622293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninyaaaaaaah/pseuds/Ninyaaaaaaah
Summary: Alex can't seem to quit Thomas Jefferson. Eliza tries to help by giving him some new rules.Inspired by the song "New Rules" by Dua Lipa





	1. ONE: don't pick up the phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you know he's only calling cause he's drunk and alone

Eliza stretches and settles down onto the worn, plush couch. She pulls her thick _Sociology of the Body_ textbook onto her lap and flips it open. Her laptop sits on the cluttered end table, and a steaming mug of vanilla rooibos tea sits on top of another stack of books. 

Peace and quiet is a rare luxury in the tiny apartment she shares with her roommate Alex. She relishes it, and refuses to waste it. 

The apartment is cluttered, books and papers covering every available surface - between Alex’s job as a journalism intern and her own studies, their lives are high on reading material and low on available space. 

Eliza tucks a highlighter behind her ear, checks her facebook notifications - nothing important - and turns her attention to the text in her lap. 

She makes it through one paragraph before the front door to their apartment bangs open and her peace is shattered. 

“Of all the, fucking, fucked up- fucking, ugh!” Alex drops his laptop bag with a groan, and flops onto the other end of their worn couch. He’s disheveled as always, raven black hair spilling haphazard out of his ponytail, button down shirt half untucked. His dark eyes blaze with a fierce intensity.

“What happened?” Eliza asks. She takes the highlighter from behind her ear and tucks it into the textbook, folds it closed. There’s no point now. 

“Fucking Jefferson!” Alex huffs. 

Eliza suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, and stretches to set the textbook down on the coffee table. It’s going to be a long night. 

“I know you’re fucking Jefferson, but that doesn’t usually result in a mood like this…” she picks up her tea and cradles it in her hands, looking at Alex expectantly. 

“He just. He’s _infuriating_ , Eliza. I can’t stand him. One minute everything’s fantastic, and the next, ugh. He’s such a stuck up, pompous asshole. He barely even _acknowledged_ me today, and you should have seen the eyes he was making at the new intern, some new dickhead intern. But he’s from _Virginia_ , so of _course_ Jefferson’s panting all over him. It makes me fucking sick,” Alex sneers, hands flailing in the air as he speaks, socked feet pressing into Eliza’s leg. 

“Did you have another fight with him?” Eliza prompts, hesitant. 

Sure enough, Alex descends into a long winded, not entirely coherent rant about Thomas Jefferson. His arch nemesis, his rival, his sometimes lover… Eliza can’t keep track of their on again, off again relationship, but any fool can see it’s toxic. 

She half listens, waiting for Alex to pause to breathe - something he seems to need with startling infrequency - and when he does;

“Have you considered just… not?” She asks. 

Alex blinks at her. 

“What?”

“Just… don’t. Don’t fuck him, don’t fight with him, just… don’t engage,” Eliza says, watching the dumbfounded expression on Alex’s face. 

“But…”

“He makes you miserable, and honestly you don’t deserve it Alex. You’re my friend and it sucks watching him hurt you…” Eliza takes a sip of her tea.

“You know what. You’re right. I don’t need this shit. I’m done. It’s over. No more Jefferson!” Alex says it with a nod of resolve, but just as he does, his phone starts ringing in his pocket. 

Eliza suppresses a groan as Alex fishes his phone out of his pocket and looks at the screen. 

“It’s him,” he says, voice smaller than Eliza expected to hear it. 

She acts fast, snatching the phone out of Alex’s hand and silencing the ringer. 

“Rule number one,” she holds up a finger, “don’t pick up the phone. He’s probably just drunk and bored.”

Alex sighs and drops his head in his hands. 

“This is going to be harder than I thought,” he says. 

Eliza hands him back his phone. 

“You need a Jefferson detox. Like quitting smoking, or something.”

“That’s going to be tough, seeing as we work together,” Alex mutters. 

“I’m sure you’ve done tougher things in your life, Alexander,” Eliza says unsympathetically. 

He looks at her mournfully, and Eliza almost wants to laugh, and she almost wants to put her arms around him, and she almost wants to smack him. Instead, she smiles encouragingly.

“Come on. Pick a movie, and let’s order a pizza,” she says, with one last regretful look at her textbook. 

“Okay,” Alex says. He reaches for the TV controller, and gets as far as firing up Netflix before his phone starts ringing again. “It’s him again,” he says, looking wide eyed and helpless at Eliza.

“Don’t answer it,” she says sternly. 

He stares at her for a long moment before bounding up from the couch, phone in hand. 

“I can’t do it Eliza,” he says, and he rushes into his bedroom and closes the door. 

Eliza sighs, shakes her head, and choses a random documentary on Netflix so she doesn’t have to listen to Alex’s side of the call. With that, she returns to her textbook. 

 

~*~*~

 

“Hello?” Alex answers the phone as his door clicks shut behind him. 

“Hamilton,” Thomas’ sultry, Southern accent melts away the tinges of guilt Alex feels for leaving Eliza in the living room, for picking up this phone call, for bending to Thomas’ call yet again. 

“Jefferson,” he answers, voice clipped. He doesn’t bother flicking on the lights, just sprawls backwards onto his unmade bed, looks up at the watermarked ceiling. The streetlight outside shines in through his window, and he can hear the TV in the living room, light spilling in under the door. 

“Where are you, Alexander?” Jefferson asks, and it sends a shiver of anticipation down Alex’s spine. 

“Home,” he answers. 

“Alone?” Jefferson asks, something heavy and expectant edging into his voice. 

Alex’s breath catches in his throat, something electric between him and Thomas, even over the phone. This is it, the reason he puts up with the bickering and the arrogance, the reason he keeps coming back to Thomas, hook, line, and sinker. Every damn time. 

“Yes,” Alex breathes. 

“Good. Clothes on?” Jefferson asks. 

“Not for long,” Alex retorts, already working at his fly, shimmying his jeans down his legs, blood running hot at the low chuckle from the other end of the phone. 

“That’s my boy,” Jefferson croons, and oh yeah, Alex can hear the soft sounds of bedsheets moving, can hear the heaviness of Jefferson’s breath, the weight of want tangible even through the phone. 

Alex kicks his jeans off the side of the bed, followed closely by his boxers and his shirt. Slightly breathless, he flops back onto his back, phone pressed to his ear. 

“Now that I’m naked, what are you going to do to me?” Alex asks, taunting, his cock twitching at the promise of pleasure. 

“Nothing, yet. Don’t touch yourself, Alexander,” Jefferson drawls. 

Alex’s breath catches in his throat, and he tucks his free hand behind his head. The desire to touch increases tenfold simply from being told not to, and Alex has to suppress a soft whine of protest. He can picture Jefferson, stretched out in his own bed, a ridiculously large expanse of purple and cream satin, topped with obscene mounds of pillows in varying sizes and textures. His lean, toned body would look stunning against the rich purple fabrics, and Alex isn’t entirely sure that’s not the whole reason purple is Jefferson’s favourite colour. 

“Are you touching yourself?” Alex asks, impatient, huffy. 

“If you must know, yes, of course,” Jefferson replies airily, and oh yeah, Alex can picture it, Jefferson’s long fingered hand curled around his impressive cock, stroking with loose, lazy strokes.

“Not fair,” Alex huffs. 

Jefferson laughs, a low, warm sound that goes right to Alex’s cock. 

“Nope,” Jefferson agrees, far too happily, Alex thinks. 

Of course, there’s nothing _stopping_ Alex from touching himself anyways… 

“If you were here, I’d get you on your back, spread out all nice on my bed… maybe tie you up,” Thomas speaks lazily, and Alex can tell from the change in his breathing that he’s touching himself in earnest now, fingers probably tight around his cock, strokes a little faster. “Would you like that Alexander?”

“Yeah, fuck yeah,” Alex breathes, and he’s getting harder by the second, and it’s getting harder to keep from reaching for his own cock, resting hot and heavy on his belly. 

“Maybe I’d blindfold you too, mm? Close your eyes, Alexander,” Jefferson commands. 

Alex listens, shutting his eyes, world narrowing to the sound of Jefferson’s voice in his ear, and the hot, impatient weight of his cock on his belly. 

“Yes sir,” Alex breathes. 

“Oh good boy,” Jefferson’s breath catches this time, and it sends a jolt of pleasure through Alex’s body. 

“Now, I’m going to let you touch yourself, but, you have to do as I say. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Now, slowly stroke down you chest. Slow, Alexander,” Jefferson says. 

Alex does as he’s asked, trailing his fingertips down his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The touch of his own hand feels foreign under Jefferson’s direction. 

“Good. Keep going, nice and slow, that’s it, get closer to that nice hard cock…”

Alex lets his hand stroke lower and lower, fingers soft on his belly, every inch drawing closer and closer to his aching cock, until his fingers are just a breath away…

“Stop,” Jefferson says, like he knows, like he can see through the phone. 

Alex can’t hold back the whine of frustration, cock desperate for touch, fingers _right there_.

“Oh, did you want something?” Jefferson asks, picture of innocence. 

“Yes,” Alex hisses, tries to keep his voice soft, sweet, knows how much Jefferson loves denying him if only given half a chance. 

“Mmm. What do you want, use your words, you are a _journalist_ , after all,” Jefferson says.

“I want to come. I want to touch myself, please, let me jerk off, I’m so hard,” Alex begs, and he wants to be ashamed but he isn’t, something in him shaking loose under Jefferson’s attentions, just like it always does. 

“So demanding. What if I want to come first?” Jefferson asks. 

Alex groans, and his cock twitches. It’s torture, holding still with his fingers a mere breath from the head of his cock, knowing how easy it would be to close the distance and give himself the pleasure he’s craving, the relief. 

“Asshole,” Alex pants, “do you know how close my fingers are to my dick right now?”

“I don’t, Alexander. I can’t see through the phone. Why don’t you tell me?” Jefferson retorts, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. 

“So close, I’m so fucking hard, and my hand is so damn close,” Alex groans. 

“Mmm, well, you can wait, can’t you?” Jefferson taunts. 

“No,” Alex snaps, impatient. 

Jefferson laughs.

“Too bad.”

Alex groans again, bites down on his lower lip, wriggles his hips, wants so badly just to give in and touch. 

“Jerk,” he pants. 

Jefferson laughs again, and it turns into a low moan. Alex can hear the sound of Jefferson’s hand stroking himself, slick with lube, quick and tight. Alex wishes he was there, wishes it was his hand, or his mouth, around Jefferson’s cock instead of Jefferson’s hand. Wishes he was riding him, driving them both towards release together. He moans at the thought, precome dripping onto his belly. 

“Talk to me, Alex, the sooner I come, the sooner you do,” Jefferson says, and his voice loses some of its composure, growing ragged edged with pleasure. 

“Fuck. Jefferson. Wish I was there. Wish I had my hands on you, or my mouth, wish I could taste your thick cock on my tongue, swallow your come, lick you clean. I wish I was riding you, your dick buried in my ass,” Alex babbles. His hips arch off the bed gently, and something aches in him, untouched and alone, something he knows Jefferson can’t ever satisfy…

But then, he hears Jefferson’s breath catch, hears him moan in that throaty way he does right before he comes, hears the sound of Jefferson’s hand speeding up, urgent strokes towards release. 

“Alexander,” he pants, and Alex damn near comes undone. 

“I want to hear you come, Jefferson, please,” Alex phrases it as a request but he knows it’s not, and sure enough, Jefferson’s voice catches on a moan that sends heat rushing through Alex’s body. 

The sounds Jefferson makes are otherworldly, and this, this is why Alex keeps coming back. The sound of polished, perfect, poised Jefferson coming all apart at the seams, all moans and pants and jagged breath… it’s incredibly intoxicating. 

“You do have a way with words, Hamilton,” Jefferson pants, breathless and spent. 

Alex just moans in response. 

“Now, I believe you wanted something?” Jefferson’s voice recovers some of its lazy indifference.

“Let me come,” Alex demands. 

“Mm, you’re lucky I’m nice. Go ahead,” Jefferson says. 

Alex wastes no time. He spits in his hand, the bedside drawer too far away in this moment, and slicks precome down the length of his cock. His fingers curl around it, tight and desperate, and he strokes himself with quick, urgent strokes. 

“If only you had another hand free, I’d make you get the lube - don’t think I didn’t hear that - and I’d make you finger yourself open, make you bring yourself close over and over again with your fingers in your ass so you could feel yourself clenching around them. Maybe I wouldn’t even let you come tonight, just leave you strung out and needy, just for me…” Jefferson’s voice is lazy, languid, like he’s reading a recipe or a textbook, for all the care he seems to feel. But his words, oh, his words paired with such lofty indifference…

Alex can’t stop the orgasm as it slams into him, wringing him out from head to toe as come splashes through his fingers and onto his belly. He moans loudly, open mouthed and panting, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through him. 

“Another time, then,” Jefferson drawls, and he sounds satisfied, like a cat with cream. 

Alex can’t yet form words, can only pant into the phone, wrung out and sated. 

“Goodnight, Alexander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please love me


	2. TWO: Don't Let Him In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'll have to kick him out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that took forever and a day, sorry friends. lots of life changes (good ones) up this way. hopefully not as long a wait for the next chapter!

The fragrant scents of cinnamon and apple fill the small apartment. 

Eliza closes her eyes and leans back against the cabinets in the tiny kitchen, imagining she’s home for Thanksgiving, spending it with her sisters and her dad instead of here, listening to Alexander gripe, on and on and on. 

About Thomas Jefferson, of course. 

She stayed here with him, for him. Felt too guilty going home to spend Thanksgiving with her family knowing he would be here in their shoebox of an apartment, alone. 

So here she is, listening to his impressive monologue.

At least she has cinnamon apple upside down cake in the oven. Her mother’s recipe, and one someone in the family always makes at Thanksgiving. She’ll forgo the turkey and the stuffing, knows Angelica will bring her leftovers when she gets back to town, but she couldn’t not make the cake. 

No way. 

Besides, Alex hasn’t ever had cinnamon apple upside down cake, and that’s a tragedy like no other. 

“I caught him _kissing_ him, Eliza!” Alex fumes. 

Eliza sighs, and takes a long sip of her spiked apple cider. 

“So just stop. It’s madness Alex, he’s running ramshod all over your feelings and it’s causing you nothing but grief. He can’t be _that_ good in bed,” she says, eyeing Alex over the rim of her mug, steam rising in the chilly air - they keep the heat turned down to save a bit of money. 

The look on Alex’s face makes her roll her eyes. 

“Ok maybe he can be that good in bed. Still. It’s not worth it Alex.”

“I know Eliza, but, fuck, I just can’t say no!” Alex tips his mug up, and drains it down. 

Eliza hops down from the counter and peeks in the oven to check on the cake, nods in satisfaction at the way it’s baking, slowly turning from pale buttermilk colour to a beautiful golden. 

When she stands up, she notices all over again how tiny their kitchen is, how with both of them on the floor, there’s not much room, and Alex is awfully close to her and if it weren’t for this whole mess with Jefferson… 

Eliza gives herself a mental shake, and takes another sip of her cider. She is not attracted to Alex, she must be more tired than she thought. 

“It’s not that hard. It’s not even a long work Alex. N. O. Two letters. Come on, you even let his call go to voicemail the last couple of times!” Eliza tries to bolster Alex’s confidence, largely for the sake of her own sanity. She’s tired of hearing about it. 

“But, what if he shows up?” Alex says, wide eyed and disheveled looking. His hair has mostly fallen out of its lopsided ponytail, and his facial hair is looking extra scruffy today, and Eliza most definitely doesn’t want to rake her fingers through the whole entire mess…

She gives herself another mental shake. Thanksgiving sentimentality is making her lose her mind. 

“Rule number two, don’t let him in!” She says decisively. 

Alex sighs. 

“Fine, okay, you’re right,” he says. “I’m sick of his bullshit anyways.”

It’s barely out of his mouth before an authoritative knock on the door startles them both. 

“I’ll get it.” Eliza squeezes past Alex before he can protest, and heads down the short hallway to answer the door. She pulls it open, and finds herself looking at a broad chest clothed in an elegant plum peacoat. She looks up, sees the angular jaw and the perfect, close trimmed beard. The tight black curls, the charming smile, the handsome dark eyes…

“You must be Thomas,” she says, and if she sounds less than enthused about it, well, she can’t help it. 

“The one and only. Thomas Jefferson. Who are you?” Jefferson looks bored, looks at her like she’s barely even there, and irritation seethes inside Eliza. 

“Eliza Schuyler. What can I help you with, Thomas?” Eliza doesn’t move to invite him in, meets his gaze as he stares imperiously down at her. 

“Schuyler? No relation to Philip Schuyler?” Thomas’ ears perk up, and Eliza resists the urge to roll her eyes. 

“My father. What can I do for you, Thomas?” Eliza asks again, annoyed. 

“Your father is an admirable man… Miss Schuyler,” Thomas pauses before her name, and Eliza is positive he forgot it, and she resists the urge to shut the door in his face. “Is Alexander in?” 

Eliza sighs heavily, opens her mouth to answer, and doesn’t get a word in before Alex shoulders her aside. 

“Jefferson, what do you want?” He snaps. 

Eliza steps back out of the way before Alex steps on her bare feet. 

“You, obviously,” Thomas drawls. 

Eliza doesn’t hide her derisive snort as she retreats to the kitchen to check on her cake and drink her cider. Alone. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

“What are you doing here?” Alex hisses, dragging Thomas into the cramped and messy apartment hallway. 

“Well, you didn’t answer my calls, and I don’t leave for Monticello until the morning since it doesn’t take that long to get there in the helicopter, so I thought I’d drop by,” Thomas looks around as he talks, distaste curling his upper lip. 

Alex burns in shame, wishes he didn’t feel it heating his cheeks. It’s nothing like the sprawling penthouse apartment Jefferson lives in, all white marble and wide, open concept layout. 

“Oh. Come in, I guess. Um. Can I get you anything?” Alex steps backwards, nearly tripping over a shoe. 

“Just you. This isn’t a social call, Hamilton,” Jefferson leaves his shoes on, and follows Alex down the hall. 

Alex keeps his head down, doesn’t look into the tiny kitchen as they pass, just hurries through the apartment to his bedroom - the smaller of the two, since Eliza pays more rent than he does. He shuts the door behind Jefferson, feels ashamed to have him here, even though he was elated when he and Eliza got approved for the place. Proud of himself. 

It seems so trivial in Jefferson’s presence. 

Alex’s room is a mess, clothes, books, papers, and old disposable coffee cups strewn everywhere. The bed is unmade, faded quilt bunched up in the middle of the bed. 

“I uh, wasn’t expecting anyone,” Alex says lamely. 

He sits on the edge of his bed, wincing when the box spring squeaks. 

Jefferson’s lip curls a little more at the sound, but he shrugs off his plum coloured coat and drapes it over the back of Alex’s desk chair just the same. 

“Obviously,” he drawls. He toes off his shoes, and in one smooth motion, topples Alex onto his back in the middle of his narrow, creaky bed. “I don’t care, Alexander. I’m just here for you. You showered today, I presume?”

“Obviously,” Alex sneers up at Thomas, and he thinks he hates him, and he thinks maybe he wants him so much _because_ he hates him. Still, when Jefferson’s mouth closes over his in a searing kiss, Alex can’t help but groan and kiss him back. He licks into Jefferson’s mouth, teasing and stroking with his tongue, hands grappling at Jefferson’s clothing like it’s the first time, not the hundredth, that they’ve fucked. 

Jefferson huffs softly into the kiss, his large, long fingered hands finding the hem of Alex’s worn T-shirt and tugging it upwards. 

“Sure your bed can handle this, Hamilton?” Jefferson whispers, lips barely brushing Alex’s.

“We’re going to find out,” Alex retorts. 

Jefferson laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends a shock of heat right to Alex’s cock. 

Alex arches up, wants the distance between them closed, wants their clothes gone and nothing but skin on skin, heat and sweat, between them. 

Jefferson kisses him again, and Alex tugs at his lower lip with his teeth, dragging the tiniest moan out of Jefferson. He tugs Jefferson’s belt open, plunges his hand down his jeans to find his hard, thick cock, and grips it firmly in his hand. 

Jefferson’s hips buck into the contact, and he breaks the kiss to all but rip Alex’s shirt off him. 

“Find something you like?” he asks. 

“Mmm,” Alex gives Jefferson’s cock a squeeze, strokes it with slow jerks, hand trapped by fabric. 

Jefferson strips his own sweater off, rocks back on his heels and away from Alex’s hand. 

“Come on Hamilton. Get out of your pants and get your sweet little hole ready for me,” he says. 

Alex bites back a needy whimper, and rushes to comply, wriggling his hips as he shimmies out of his worn gray track pants. 

Jefferson sits back on his heels, undoes his fly, and pulls his cock out, watching Alex expectantly from between his legs. 

Alex’s breath catches and he kicks his pants over the edge of the bed, twists to reach for the tupperware drawers he uses for a nightstand and grabs the bottle of lube. 

He slicks his fingers, tosses the bottle away hurriedly, and spreads his legs, hips canting upwards. 

As his fingers find his sensitive rim, Alex watches Jefferson watch him, hand lazily working up and down his hard cock. It’s a sight like no other, and Alex doesn’t think he’d ever get tired of it, and he _knows_ Jefferson knows that and that just makes him burn all that much more.

“Go on, don’t tease, finger yourself open for me,” Jefferson says, sounding almost bored. 

Alex huffs a soft whine, and dips the tip of one finger inside himself. 

It’s different with Jefferson watching, more intimate, somehow. He’s so much more aware of the clench of his muscles around his fingertip, of how tight it feels when he pushes deeper, slow and careful. 

“That’s it, god if only you took orders this well at work…” Jefferson’s fingers tighten on his cock, jaw slack with pleasure. 

“Fuck you,” Alex says. He adds another finger, fucks himself with them for a moment before spreading them apart. The stretch is just this side of painful, but the rapt look on Jefferson’s face, the way his cock jumps in his hand, damn, it’s worth it every time. 

“The reverse, tonight, Hamilton. I’ll be fucking you,” Jefferson retorts. 

Alex works his fingers a moment longer, watching as Jefferson digs a condom from his pocket, rips it open with his teeth, and rolls it slowly onto his cock. 

“Okay, okay, you’re ready, aren’t you?” Jefferson asks, impatient.

Alex grins, goes back to fucking himself with his fingers, makes a show of moaning loudly, rocking his hips into it. 

Jefferson swats his wrist, almost pouting.

Alex laughs, and pulls his fingers out, wiping them on the tangled sheets. 

“Took you long enough,” Jefferson gripes. 

“What, scared you’re going to blow your load too soon?” Alex retorts. 

He flips over onto his stomach, pushes back on his elbows until he’s up on his knees, ass in the air. 

“Fuck me like this,” he demands, doesn’t want to look at Jefferson’s smug face anymore, just wants to get off, wants to feel himself filled and stretched and fucked, and doesn’t want to think too hard about any of it. 

A stinging smack lands on his ass cheek. 

“Awfully demanding for someone who’s about to take a dick up their ass,” Jefferson comments, but he grips Alex’s hip with one hand anyways and leans in close. 

Alex shifts on the bed, knees and forearms braced. 

The blunt head of Jefferson’s cock nudges up against his rim, and Alex moans and presses back, eager. He’s under no illusion that Jefferson wants him for more than this, and Alex doesn’t really want that either, but sometimes he just wishes for _something_. 

Something he knows he’s not going to get here, so he stares at the peeling paint on the wall and lets his breath huff out as Jefferson’s cock slides slowly in. 

“Good?” Jefferson asks when he’s fully seated inside Alex, thick cock filling and stretching him. 

Alex loves it. Loves the way that stretch, that heat, brings him right to the center of himself and makes everything else seem so far away. 

“Good,” he answers, and he appreciates that for all that Jefferson is a jerk, he’s a conscientious lover.

Even with Alex’s all clear, Jefferson’s first few thrusts are slow and careful, cock sliding back until the head catches on Alex’s rim, then pressing back in inch by slow inch. Stretching. Filling. 

He keeps it slow until Alex wants to scream, whole body burning up and aching for more, cock rock hard and dripping. 

“I’m getting bored, Jefferson,” Alex taunts. 

“Oh really?” Jefferson _sounds_ bored, but then he drives back into Alex with a hard thrust, and Alex grunts on impact. 

Jefferson fucks him hard and fast, then, hips driving into him, over and over, right up into his prostate with practiced aim. 

Alex can’t help but moan, digs his fingers into the sheets until his knuckles turn white and pushes back on his elbows so Jefferson doesn’t fuck him right through the wall. 

Below the sound of the bed creaking, skin on skin, and slick lube, Jefferson’s soft, restrained groans are music to Alex’s ears. 

“Oh fuck yeah,” he pants, and he forgets all about being rivals with Jefferson, because God damn it, Jefferson fucks him so good. 

Jefferson slams into him, over and over and over again, driving Alex’s pleasure higher with every thrust until Alex can’t help but reach for his cock. 

The whole bed shakes, and Alex wonders if it really is going to fall apart, but then Jefferson is fucking him even faster, groans loud and unrestrained, and Alex forgets to care. 

“Yeah, yeah, you fuck me so good,” Alex babbles. He grips his cock in his fist, can’t do much from this angle, but it’s enough, jerky little strokes that bring him right to the edge of orgasm. 

“I’m gonna come Jefferson, fuck yeah, you’re making me come,” Alex’s words choke off with a loud moan of pleasure as he spills over his hand, ass clenching hard around Jefferson’s cock. 

“Jesus Christ Alexander, fuck you feel good,” Jefferson pants. He pulls out of Alex’s ass as the last waves of orgasm fade from Alex’s body. 

There’s a wet splat as the condom hits the floor… somewhere… and then nothing but the sound of Jefferson’s ragged breath, and his hand jerking his own cock hard and fast. 

Alex lets his chest sag to the bed, arms shaking, breathing hard. 

“Oh yeah,” Jefferson pants, and the first hot, wet splash of come hits Alex’s lower back. 

Alex stifles a soft whine, cock twitching even as it softens, each splash of come on his back just making him want to do it all over again. 

Jefferson sits back with a sigh, and Alex flops over onto his side, spent and panting, and content. Afterglow makes his limbs loose and lazy, and he blinks up at Jefferson in silence. 

“Well. Happy Thanksgiving eve, Hamilton,” Jefferson says. He gives him a lopsided grin, the kind Alex has never seen on his face except for right after they fuck, and it warms Alex from head to toe. 

“Happy Thanksgiving eve,” Alex replies. 

“Think the Schuyler girl will share whatever it is that smells so good?” Thomas asks, like he’s trying to be cheeky. 

Alex bristles that he can’t even call Eliza by her name, and pushes up on his elbows.

“Her name’s Eliza. And no, I think she’s taking it to an event tomorrow,” Alex lies, because he doesn’t want to share whatever Eliza is making with Jefferson, doesn’t want to share _Eliza_ with Jefferson. 

“Too bad, it smells delicious. Oh well.” Jefferson flops over on his back, and winces. “How do you sleep on this, good lord.”

Alex seethes quietly, hatred rushing back in on the heels of fading afterglow. 

“Just fine, thanks. Don’t you have a helicopter to catch?” Alex snaps. 

Jefferson pushes himself back up on one elbow and raises an eyebrow at Alex.

“What, only good for one round tonight? I’m surprised, Hamilton.”

“Yep, kinda tired. You should go.” Alex stands up on unsteady legs, tugs his pants and t-shirt back on. 

Jefferson sits up slowly, something like surprise registering on his face. 

“You know, you’re right. I’m staying at the Four Seasons for the night anyways, for a change, before heading home in the morning, and I think I’ll check out their oyster bar for dinner.” Jefferson gets up, and Alex finds he really just wants him to shut up, just wants him to leave. 

Still, it always stings a little when he does.


	3. THREE: Don't Be His Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you know you're going to wake up in his bed in the morning

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright on your own for Christmas?” 

Eliza stands on her tiptoes on her desk chair, balanced precariously as she tries to artfully drape a garland over the big screen TV. 

“I’m fine,” Alex says from somewhere near her feet. He’s holding the chair steady so it doesn’t swivel while she’s standing on it, and handing her bits of tape and red plastic baubles. 

“You can still come, Daddy said it’s alright…” Eliza doesn’t like the thought of Alex alone in their tiny apartment for Christmas. The very thought makes her feel lonely and sad, the thought of a Christmas without her loved ones too hard to bear. 

“I’m fine,” Alex says again. “I don’t want to impose.”

Eliza sighs, and fixes the last corner of garland to the top of the TV. At least it will look festive, and she’s promised herself to bring home lots of leftovers for him. Still. 

“You’re not imposing, you’re invited,” Eliza tries one last time. 

“No, Eliza. Thank you, but I can’t. I have lots to work on anyways, it’ll be good to use the time to catch up.” He hands her another bauble, and she attaches it to the garland with a twist tie, tucks the ends into the plastic pine needles. 

“Alright. What about Jefferson?” She almost doesn’t want to ask, but her curiosity gets the best of her.

Alex snorts derisively. 

“Home in Monticello. Besides, we’re just friends now,” he insists. 

Eliza laughs, and peers down at Alex, bites her lip at the wounded look on his face. 

“Don’t laugh,” he pouts. 

“Friends? Since when, Alexander. You’ve never been friends, you hate his guts!” She shakes her head, and looks back up at the garland, holding out a hand for a bauble. 

Alex places one in her outstretched hand, and his fingers brush her palm and she closes her eyes for a moment, relishing the small touch despite her best intentions. Oh Alex. brilliant, sweet, driven Alex. he deserves so much more than Jefferson is willing to give, and it pains her to see him put up with less than he’s worth. 

“We can be,” he says, petulant. 

Eliza shakes her head, hangs the bauble. 

“Rule number three. Don’t be his friend. Honestly Alex, do you really think you can be friends with Jefferson? You’re just going to wind up on your back for him again…” she says, unable to keep the slight edge from her voice. 

She’s tired of hearing it, tired of watching him pant after Jefferson when she’s right here, when she could give him so much more… 

Alex starts to respond, but whatever he’s going to say is lost under the sudden trill of his phone from his pocket. 

Eliza sighs. 

“Alex don’t,” she says, but she knows it’s wasted even as she says it. 

Sure enough, the ringing gets louder as he takes the phone from his pocket, and Eliza looks down in time to see him put it to his ear. 

“Hello,” he says, looking up at her with big eyes. 

She sighs again, and rolls her eyes at him. 

“Decorating for Christmas,” Alex says. 

Eliza looks up again, closes her eyes, wants to be anywhere but listening in on Alex’s conversation, but she’s trapped standing on her desk chair, saved from swivelling to her death only by Alex’s hand stabilizing the seat.

“No. No, you know what Jefferson, I’m not doing this anymore,” Alex snaps. 

Eliza’s eyes open and she stares at their watermarked ceiling in shock, looks down at Alex after a moment and watches him angrily poke the ‘end call’ button on his phone, then look up at her. 

“You know, times like this, I miss my flip phone. How do you angrily press ‘end call’?” Alex gripes. 

Eliza laughs, she can’t help it, can’t help the way her heart soars at the thought that maybe this time he means it, maybe this time it’s over for good. 

Alex’s phone starts to ring again, and he rolls his eyes, grins lopsided at her as he powers his phone off, and tosses it onto their lumpy old couch. 

“For real?” She asks. 

“For real,” he says. “I don’t need that bullshit in my Christmas.” 

Eliza grins bright. 

“Good. It’s about damn time.”

Her euphoria is short lived.

~*~*~

Alex sighs, and hands Eliza another Christmas bauble. 

“But damn, the sex was so good,” he says wistfully. 

Eliza snatches the bauble from his hand and huffs impatiently. 

“Enough, Alexander. It can’t have been that good,” she snaps. 

“The best, Eliza,” he responds mournfully. 

“Oh?” 

Something in her tone makes him look up at her, standing above him precariously balanced on her desk chair. She’s looking down at him, challenging arch in her brow, brown eyes glinting with… something. 

“Are you sure about that?” She asks, and it hits him like a ton of bricks. 

He blinks, lost for words. He never dreamed in a million years that she would ever look at him the way she’s looking at him now. 

“Uh…” he says.

“Alexander, help me down,” Eliza says, voice softening. 

Still, it takes him a moment before he gets to his feet, to hold the chair steady for her, to hold out his hand for her to take. She looks just like she usually does when they’re home alone, hair falling out of a loose ponytail, blue plaid flannel pj pants riding low on her slim hips, blue tank top leaving just a tantalizing inch of skin visible above her waistband, and he wonders why the hell he never really noticed before. Why the hell he’s wasted all this time on Jefferson if she, if _Eliza_ is interested. 

She takes his hand, steps carefully down from the chair, and she’s so close, and it’s not like they’re never been this close before - only every time they try to use the kitchen at the same time - but this time it’s different, the way she’s looking at him is different…

She clears her throat softly and looks up at him, and he realizes he’s still holding her hand and he doesn’t want to let go. 

“Maybe we should test that theory, mm?” She says, soft tease in her voice, smile on her lips. 

She leans in closer, spreads her fingers in his hand and twines them with his, and squeezes gently. 

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, we should.”

He brings his free hand to the small of her back, draws her flush against him, her warmth and her softness against him. 

Then he kisses her, and he falls right into her. Her soft mouth and her warmth and her familiarity. Kissing her feels like coming home, like something he’d always been meant to do. 

He can’t help but groan into it, marvelling at the give of her, the way she softens and opens for him without fight, as if the very idea delights her. 

She moans softly back, her soft tongue stoking up into his mouth, teasing, inviting, asking. 

It goes right to his groin, and he tugs her tighter against him, lets his fingertips dip below the waist of her pj pants, and when she doesn’t protest, strokes down to cup the round swell of her ass. He tugs her closer, the warmth of her belly pressing into his hardening cock. 

She tugs her hand free of his and she pushes him back, hands on his chest, still kissing him fiercely. 

Alex backs up, slides his free hand up the back of her tank top and drags her with him as she pushes him back until his knees hit the couch and he falls back onto it. 

He breaks the kiss, watches her straddle his lap, hands on his shoulders, smile on her face. 

“Alex,” she says, and his heart skips a beat and there’s nothing, nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her saying his name like that, to keep her looking at him like that. 

“Eliza,” he says, in wonder. “God, look at you.”

She laughs a little, a warm, happy sound, and she shakes her head and kisses him again as she lets her weight settle into his lap, bodies flush against each other. 

“You’re so beautiful, I just want…” he strokes his hands up her sides, marvels at the very touching of her. 

“What, Alex?” She asks, and she strokes her hands down his chest and over his stomach, and she catches the hem of his worn t-shirt with her fingers, and tugs it up, cool apartment air hitting his bare skin.

“I- everything,” he says helplessly, and she laughs again, tugs his shirt up until he’s forced to stop touching her for a moment so that he can strip it off. 

“Okay,” she says, “on one condition.”

“What?” He asks, and he’ll do anything, anything. 

“No more Jefferson,” she says, and she strokes her hands back down his body, warm skin on skin, until her fingertips are dancing along the waist of his track pants, and her hips shift back to give herself room, letting his cock strain against the worn fabric, aching for the touch of those deft fingers. 

“Who?” He says breathlessly, and right now, in this moment, he can’t fathom why he ever cared. 

“That’s my man,” she breathes, and the praise makes his cock twitch and his blood heat. 

Alex’s hips arch up as Eliza’s fingers drift lower and she cups his cock through his pants, then curls her fingers around it and strokes him slowly. 

“Oh fuck that’s good,” Alex breathes, head falling back. “Eliza.” Her name on his lips feels so good. 

“Mm, Alex, can’t wait to have this inside me,” Eliza says, and Alex’s cock twitches in her hands. 

Alex groans, and slides his hands down the back of Eliza’s pj pants again, squeezes her ass and tries to tug her closer. 

“Condom?” She asks.

“Fuck,” Alex lets her go, scrubs his hands over his face, and groans. “Uhm. Hang on, I have some in my drawer…” he shifts to get up, and she pushes him back down. 

“I’ll get it. You stay here, and get naked for me,” she winks, and steps neatly off the couch, leaving him alone. 

Alex takes a deep breath, watching Eliza disappear into his mess of a room, then gives himself a shake and shimmies out of his track pants, dropping them on the floor. 

He watches the open bedroom door, giving his cock a slow, loose stroke, and feels guilty for letting Eliza be the one to get up… 

Until she comes back, hair falling loose around her face and spilling over her bare shoulders, condom in its wrapper between her fingers, and nothing but smooth, creamy skin. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes. 

She laughs, again, and walks towards him, all long legs and soft curves, and he wants to touch every inch of her but he also just wants to stare at her, drink in the sight of her. 

“That better be a good ‘holy shit’,” she says as she straddles his lap once more, nothing but skin on skin now. 

“It is, oh God Eliza it is,” Alex strokes his hands up her sides, cups her breasts, rubs his thumbs over the hard buds of her nipples and revels in the way she arches into the touch. 

She tugs the condom package open with her teeth, and rolls it down onto his cock with slow, tight fingers. 

Then she’s sinking down onto him, and it feels like heaven. 

Alex’s breath catches in his throat and he rolls his thumbs over her nipples, groaning at the slow way she takes him. The wet heat of her is intoxicating, and it takes everything he has not to buck his hips up into her. 

She kisses him again, tongue stroking into his mouth as she takes him to the hilt, and Alex just wants this to last forever. 

He kisses her hungrily, hands stroking everywhere, all over her soft skin, her smooth curves. 

She rides him expertly, hips driving up and down on his cock while the tips of her fingers stroke her clit. Letting her have her way with him feels like coming home, everything in him lighting up under her touch. The way her breath catches, the soft sounds of pleasure she makes, and the way she tightens around him… 

“Eliza, fuck, you feel so good,” he groans against her mouth. She moans and kisses him again, hips moving faster.

“Alex!” Eliza buries her face in his neck, moaning loudly, and the feel of her orgasm around his cock is mind blowing, enough to drag him right over the edge with her. 

Pleasure wrings him out, and he’s left breathless and panting beneath her, one hand resting on the small of her back. 

She cuddles against him, head tucked into his neck, and the way it feels to just sit here and bask in afterglow, to feel her warmth against him, the rhythm of her breathing… 

“Why weren’t we doing this sooner?” He asks, breathless.

“Jefferson,” Eliza mutters. 

“Who?” Alex says again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that took forever and a day.


End file.
